After having completed some amateur-at-best short film documentaries this semester, I decided to switch it all up and make an audio doc for this last project. The product I ended up with was âthanks for the memories,â which is an auditory ode to my grandparents.
This was an attempt at a new twist on my non-fiction film, made for my film major application. I thought a lot more about my intent in making the film and how different modes of documentary can best convey the emotions I want to explore. When you lose someone close to you, their voice is most likely the first part of them that you will forget. In âthanks for the memories,â I wanted to restore the voice of my grandparents to my life and remembrance. I collected almost every piece of video and audio I have of them and their voices and strung them together like a series of lucid memories.
I wanted the poetic mode to influence my work on this project, in an effort to provoke thought and reflection, and while every piece of audio says something literally, none of what is said is of any importance or note. Each clip is a very simple, everyday exchange, which was caught on home video. Besides the book ending clips of audio, documenting the degradation of my grandmaâs memory a mere month before she died, the sequencing of the audio does not result in any sort of narrative being told. I wanted the listener to get the impression that they are clicking on random clips of audio they find on their phone, searching for any piece of remembrance, of comfort in their grief. I also edited it in a way that mirrors the human mind and our tendency to blur different memories into one memory. In order to convey that, I placed audio that had similar wording next to each other, so that it would be hard to distinguish between the two, not knowing when one clip changes into another. I took inspiration from both Rain and Berlin: Symphony of a Great City for this project, as I took very specific bits and pieces of life and synthesized them together to create a greater mood and experience.
The participatory mode was built into the very soil of this project. The subjects are my grandparents and thus, I could not remove any part of myself from the project without also removing them. Actually, my decision to make an audio documentary instead of a visual one was inspired by the film Nobodyâs Business. The scenes where the filmmaker interviews his father, with absolutely no imagery backing the audio, just pure black background, struck me the most and felt like the most personal and intimate in the whole film. Such a decision makes the interaction between the filmmaker and their relative seem so much more real and reflective, as if the filmmaker themselves are making an effort to remember something the other said, closed eyes, hearing only voices and phrases from the loved one. The filmmakerâs relationship with the subject of their film is essential to performative documentaries and the authenticity of the project. My grandparents were no celebrities and making a documentary as if they were, would be impossible for me and insulting to them. We were so close, and I needed to portray that closeness in the project, or else it wouldnât be any sort of reality. At the very least, I could convey my reality. Luckily, I had access to small interviews I did with my grandma a couple times throughout my time with her, which let me get closer to her when she was alive and feel closer to her now that she is dead.
Another mode I wished to utilize is the observational mode. Although I could never accomplish âcinema veritĂ©â with only audio, I tried my best to let the reality of each interaction in the clips I used shine through. I did so by making the decision to use no voice over. I used only archival audio, without prefacing the occurrences in the clips and my reasoning for using them. In fact, the audio I used was never intended to prove any sort of point but be a pure observation of audio and auditory memory. The whole documentary is more important than individual clips, just as the whole person being remembered is more important than the little, insignificant recollection of conversations we have had with them. One reason I wanted to use observational filmmaking is to create a feeling as though one is listening to an exhibit at the zoo or an art museum, crafting a sort of depersonalized, distant listening experience. Such an experience establishes a paradox when this piece of media is consumed. The audience must listen to something so personal and private, with no broader context, and feel the misery of missing out on something they were never a part of, while for me, I must experience the piece, having been a part of it, knowing that I can never have that again. My grandparents are dead, living on only through the records I have of them. This audio is a part of that life, but a painful reminder that this is all there is. It is like listening to ghosts.
It is found media. When I began this project, I remembered the section of our books that talked about home videos used to incriminate the Nazis in Germany, and though I am not incriminating my grandparents of anything, I too was working off of home video footage. It made me feel like I was uncovering something new, when placing each clip together. That is why this project has been so interesting to me. I only used pre-existing pieces of audio, which I happened to be a part of already, and edited them as if I wasnât a part of them. That is how I managed to use both observational and performative modes of documentary, and in my opinion, that irony and juxtaposition is in of itself poetic.
Sound is such a gift, but in the visual world we live in, it gets drowned out. Photos and portraits of family members have existed for centuries, and while we now have video with audio, physical copies of familial audio are still hard to create and preserve. The clouds will only hold so much memory until our own memories are wiped out. We must prize the audio we have while we have it, because audio is the first thing we will lose and the first thing we will forget.














